


At the End of All Things

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles from Mordor until the Gray Havens, from Sam and Frodo's points of view</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of All Things

His curls are crusted with blood, filth, and sweat and yet  
they’re soft. He wraps his frail arms around me, begging  
pardon with no words for taking me away from home and  
Rosie. I can’t stop my weeping over it, here at the end, but I  
clasp his bloody hand, shielding it from the ash and foul dirt  
of Mordor, as if it matters now whether the wound gets  
rancid. He closes his eyes, and in spite of the hissing rocks  
and spraying lava, his face is luminous, utterly peaceful –  
and I finally get it, just how evil it was.

***

The veil has lifted, and the bubbling fire that  
surrounds them does not burn as deep as other fires.  
During their last desperate crawl, Sam flickered like a  
frail shadow at the edge of the fiery eye, and Frodo  
clung to it, thirsty for that last shred of awareness that  
things still existed like earth and green hills. Even in  
the cavern, in which Frodo had hoped to be shielded  
from the Eye but found it burned more fiercely than  
ever, that shadow begged him and nearly kept him  
from claiming. Now shadow is flesh, and Frodo clings  
to him.

 

***

Frodo had once fallen dreadfully ill as a child in  
Brandy Hall. Normally rosy-cheeked, full of rascally  
life, he had found it nearly unbearable to be confined  
to the sickroom. Watching his merry cousins run  
about in fresh air had driven him nearly mad with  
restlessness. So clear and delicate was glass, yet it  
had such power – it divided the world of darkness  
from fresh air and sunshine.

“Frodo!” Pippin was larger than life in his soldier of  
Gondor garb. “You’re hundreds of miles away.”

Frodo smiled sadly, for that glass pane once again  
divided him from all he loved.

 

***

There were always those rose bushes that failed to  
thrive, no matter what tender care you give to them  
and no matter how other bushes nearby bloomed  
under your very same tender care. When that one  
bush died, I used to pluck the blooms before they  
shriveled. Sometimes I’d give them to Miss Rose  
Cotton, but before I’d do that, I’d hold a velvety petal  
between my stubby fingers and sniff in its perfume.

I saw the pendant Arwen gave him. He does not  
thrive under the best care. My heart hurts deep inside  
that he will soon be plucked.

***

They danced – the people of Minas Tirith. The crown  
had been set on the king, and now their feet sprang  
over stone, over barely washed bloodstains of their  
fallen. A tree blossomed and flags unfurled.

They danced -- thick woolly feet that hit the ground  
with no sound. Sam had claimed his Rose at last,  
and blossoms fluttered to the earth like snow. Smiling  
rosy faces passed in a blur. Seeds scattered and a  
new age bloomed.

They danced -- the waves over wet sand, singing and  
beckoning. A gray ship sailed toward a land where  
feet could dance again.

END


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